Beliefs
by DeniseV
Summary: Bay City is in the throws of torrential rains, Starsky is sick and Hutch is dealing with both as best he can, which isn't good enough for his partner.


It was Friday night and I was sitting in my living room wondering what had happened. It had been a hellish week, with a gruesome double murder mixed in with the assorted other ugly daily cases we were working. Starsky and I had grown increasingly irritated with each other as the week went on. By this morning we weren't even speaking unless it was something dealing specifically with a case.

The weather hadn't helped. The rains were incessant, and we were constantly drenched. And Starsky was sick. I know that was part of why he was so irritated. What I hadn't figured out was what my problem was.

I know that I can be over-bearing at times where my partner is concerned. I know he thinks I'm bossy and like to be in charge. I also know that I can be the same way about looking out for him, and I know I had taken it a step too far yesterday.

We finished up a meeting with the mayor, the commissioner, Captain Dobey and the other detectives working the double murder with us. This was high profile, as the husband who was killed was the son of a wealthy and influential family. There was significant pressure on the department to solve this case quickly. As we left the conference room, I grabbed my partner and directed him back into the room.

I called to Roberts and Martinson, "We'll catch up with you in a minute."

"Hurry up. We got a lot of work to do, and I got my kid's ballgame that I can't miss tomorrow night. And then Saturday, I got my daughter's swim meet. We need this case wrapped up by 5PM sharp on Friday." Roberts responded, heading away from us. Right.

It was late Thursday morning and Starsky was looking and sounding pretty sick by this point. He developed a cold and he hadn't been too crazy about seeking medical help, if he had a choice, since he'd recovered from the Gunther shooting. But the fact is that he had suffered some pretty serious injuries, and whenever there was any illness that could have an adverse affect on his lungs or heart, it was important that he get treatment right away.

"Did you go to the doctor last night like I told you?" I asked.

"Just 'cause you told me to do somethin' doesn't mean it's gonna happen, Hu…." Before he could finish my name he started in to a terribly congested cough. It sounded pretty bad, and he was starting to piss me off. Starsky's a smart guy, but he also has fears, and his fear of doctors and hospitals has become extreme since the shooting. Unfortunately, it was my job to make sure he took care of himself. And sometimes that meant getting in his face about it.

"Starsky, you can't let this cold just go on like this. We don't have the luxury. You're gonna develop pneumonia, and then you'll be out of action for a long time. Now we're taking the next hour and we're gonna get you looked at and get some sort of medicine for that cough. I already made the appointment. Let's go."

"Like hell! Hutch, it's just a cold. I'll take some cough drops. It'll be fine, and I'll take the weekend and rest up. Would ya leave me alone about this! You're treatin' me like a kid, and I don't like it."

"Starsk, I wouldn't have to treat you like one if you'd act your age. You're not being smart about this. And besides, if things don't look up soon with the Lawrence murder case, you'll be working this weekend anyway."

"Look, I told ya I'm not goin'. Now we got work to do. Let's go meet up with Roberts and Martinson." He headed down the hallway, coughing his way to the squad room.

We walked into the squad room and Martinson said, "Hey, that's a nasty cough, Starsky. You better get that looked at before it turns into pneumonia." Well, at least he knew now that it wasn't just me.

"You too? Jesus, will ya all just leave me alone! It's just a cold." He raised his voice enough to raise some heads. He looked around uncomfortably and said, "Come on, let's get to it."

We worked some leads and were finishing up some calls when we received the crime lab report. Unbelievably, there was a fingerprint found on the hardwood floor next to one of the victims. The print was the thumbprint of one Arthur Martel, a bad guy if there ever was one. He had been imprisoned three times, a career criminal whose rap sheet included burglary, extortion, aggravated assault, assorted drug charges and a slew of other arrests. But he had never taken that long step over to murder.

"Arthur Martel. Didn't he just get _(cough)_ outta prison a few weeks _(cough)_ ago?" Starsky said between coughs.

"You know what they say, Starsk. Once a criminal…"

We got a current address from Martel's parole officer and Starsky, Martinson, Roberts and I headed over, with a quickly acquired warrant, to Martel's apartment. He was on the third floor of a decrepit apartment building that looked more suited for the demolition ball than for human beings to live in. We didn't bother to knock. I kicked the door in, and we stormed the apartment, having already donned our bulletproof vests for the more dangerous entry.

It was a surprisingly sprawling apartment, with more rooms than we expected. Martel was not in the living room area where the initial entry to the apartment led. We continued to search the apartment carefully, but quickly. I saw my partner practically dive out the hallway window. I ran to see what was happening, and saw Starsky following Martel down the fire escape. Martel fired at Starsk, and the bullet almost hit me as it nicked the brick on the outside of the building.

I yelled to Martinson and Roberts, "He's down the alley! Starsky's after him! Go out the front!" I headed down the fire escape as quickly as I could. I heard more gunfire, and was beginning to fear for my partner's safety. The first few shots were clearly from Martel's gun, but the last two were definitely the familiar sound of Starsky's Beretta. My panic began to ease at the sound of that familiar echo.

I got to the bottom of the ladder and jumped, heading down the alley in search of Starsky and Martel. They had made it pretty far down the alley before one of Starsky's bullets had stalled Martel's escape. Martel had tried a few more shots at my partner, but once his gun was out of bullets, Starsky quickly subdued him, helped in no small part by the hit Martel took in his right leg.

Martel was handcuffed, and Starsky was standing, bent over with his hands on his knees, coughing violently. Martinson and Roberts showed up, and Roberts went to check out Martel's injury while Martinson went to call for an ambulance and the crime lab team. With any luck, the gun Martel used to shoot at my partner would end up being the murder weapon in the Lawrence case.

As I walked toward Starsky, I yelled to Martinson, "Two ambulances, Jack."

Starsky looked up. "No! One'll do." He was still coughing and seemed to be having a hard time catching his breath. His face was bright red from the effort, but you could still see the threat in his expression. And that look was all for me.

Starsky and I finished up the paperwork on the Martel arrest and headed home. I had driven, so I headed for Starsky's first. I pulled up in front of his place, and put the car in park. We had said nothing to one another since finishing our reports. In fact, the only conversation we had since leaving the alley was regarding the case. Even Martinson and Roberts were wondering what was going on.

"Something wrong?" Roberts asked.

I started to speak, but Starsky's emphatic "No!" put an end to that conversation.

I could tell Starsky was conflicted about saying something to me. He hadn't started to get out of the car; he was still sitting in the passenger's seat, quiet and not a little upset. "Just say it." I said to him.

He turned to look at me. His face was a mix of emotions, I can only imagine how he must be feeling if he looked like that. He shook his head and coughed, and reached to open the door. I put my hand on his arm. "I know you're mad at me for the ambulance thing."

"Hutch, there's no way you can know how tired I am of all this." It felt like a bullet hit my heart.

"Of what?" I knew what he meant. I knew it was me he was tired of. I try so hard to manage my feelings about Starsky. The fact is I love him more than anyone in my life. I do not foresee a time when this will change. And it scares me that I feel this way, because thinking of that changing scares me even more. So not only am I fighting this losing battle trying to watch my partner's back when he's in danger, or injured or sick, but I'm also fighting how to not go so far that I send him running for fear of being smothered.

Starsky sighed. He really wasn't up to this argument, and I was happy for that. "Nothin'. I'm tired. I'm gonna go upstairs and go to bed. See ya in the morning." He was out the door pretty fast. I got out and called to him over the roof of my car. "I'll drive, okay?" He looked back at me, shook his head again, then grinned and gave me a slight nod of assent.

I drove home, thinking of how things had been since Starsky was shot by Gunther's goons. We had been going through such a tough time in the period before it happened, but we had come to an understanding, and our relationship had never been better than on that fateful day. His recovery was long and difficult, on him physically and mentally and on me emotionally. I found that while he was recovering and still in the hospital, it was hard for me to feel close enough to him. He had so many tubes running in and out of his body, and was hooked to so many machines for so long, that it made it hard to touch him enough. So I had taken to kissing him on his forehead upon my arriving for visits and when I left. Early on, especially when he was so out of it still from the heavy sedation and painkillers, it was really the only place I could touch him.

I don't think he ever really knew about this. But I remember it now, as vividly as I remember the pain and sadness in his eyes when he told me about how tired he was "of all this."

The next day was Friday, and with the arrest yesterday we were all feeling pretty good about the week ending on an up note. Starsky was still really quiet and still hacking like crazy.

I had been in the squad room discussing weekend plans with Roberts and Martinson when I noticed that Starsky wasn't around. I decided that my best friend and I needed to have the conversation we didn't have last night. I know he wanted to have it, and it was now my turn to take my medicine.

I walked around looking for my partner and finally made my way to the men's room. As I approached the door I knew I'd found him. His cough really was sounding painful. I walked in and said softly, "Hey, I found you."

"Good work, detective." He finally said when he could speak.

"Starsky, I know you want to talk, but I gotta try one more time. You need to have that cough looked at. Why are you being so stubborn about this?"

"Because, Hutch, I don't think I am. I think you're seein' somethin' that's not there. It's just a cold. I've had 'em before and I survived. I'll live through this one. You have to start giving me some space, Hutch." Just that much talking started him coughing again.

"Look. Maybe you don't remember, but I have a vivid memory where your health is concerned. Are you telling me you don't remember the doctors telling you to be watchful of bad colds and coughs? Come on, Starsky! Get a grip. This isn't 'just a cold.' This is a bad cold."

"You know, Hutch, there are a lot of important things in life to be concerned about. I can give ya a few examples, like those two little Lawrence girls who lost their mommy and daddy, and getting the pushers off the streets, and watching out for Kiko when he was younger. Those are all important things to worry about. And I appreciate the fact that you care for me, that you love me so much that you do these things. God knows I love you more than is probably healthy. But you're drainin' me, Hutch. You're drainin' me of my belief in myself. And I can't lose faith in myself! If that happens, then I might as well quit this job right now, 'cause I'll be no good to me, I'll be no good to you, and I'll be no good for the people I'm supposed to serve and protect."

I don't consider myself a stupid person. I know I'm a smart guy, educated, and I've learned a lot more over the years from my partner than from almost any other place. And it's a good thing that I was open to learning new things, because my very insightful partner just taught me another lesson.

The rest of the day was blessedly uneventful, but Starsky was still quiet, and still sick. I took him home, and could tell by his demeanor that he wanted to be alone. I drove away as he entered his place.

So I was alone in my apartment on a Friday night, and all I wanted was to see how my partner was doing. To say that I was at a total loss at what to do would be an understatement. I can imagine the frustration in his voice as he picked up the phone if I decided to call. I didn't want that. I wanted to make him feel better, that's really all I wanted.

Starsky is the reason I have made, what my captain and every other officer I work with would call, a rebound. My attitude prior to the shooting had been pretty much in the crapper. Giving up on this work, the entire Rigger affair, and just a general frustration, a feeling that we simply were not making a difference, were all things that I never thought I would have to face. I had loved my work and it was great to have Starsky to share it with. Somehow, with the help of my partner, I was able to make my way back from the dark. He made me feel that what we did mattered; that no matter how much I might doubt that I was making a contribution, he believed in me. And somehow that passion that Starsky exuded from his entire being managed to work its way into mine. If it weren't for Starsky, there is no way I would still be a cop.

I needed to talk to Starsk. I know he was still mad at me, and he'd probably think I didn't listen to a thing he said to me earlier in the day. I was just going to have to deal with the fallout when I saw him.

I drove to his place, the rains still bearing down on Bay City. The streets were flooded all the time now, so detours slowed my route to my friend's house. I knocked on his door and waited in nervous anticipation of his reaction. I swear I heard what sounded like his head falling, frustrated, against the door.

The door opened. "Blintz, what a surprise." The greeting dripped with sarcasm. He opened the door wider to allow me to come in from the rainy porch.

"I wanted to talk to you, but I was afraid you might hang up on me if I called. So I decided it was safer for my psyche, and definitely braver, to just come on over." Starsky laughed, which sounded so good to my ears. I smiled back at him, somewhat more at ease than I expected to be.

"Believe me, Hutch, there were many moments over the last week when I wanted to belt ya one, but this ain't one of those moments." He walked to the kitchen, where he appeared to have a variety of cold medications on the counter.

"What's all this?" I asked hesitantly.

"Well, I wasn't sure I got through that thick skull of yours today, and rather than fight you all weekend, and get no rest, I decided to go to the doctor." I smirked a little.

"So, what did the doctor say?" By the looks of the stuff all over Starsky's counter, there was definitely some medication that came from his visit today.

"Well, let me tell ya, Hutch. He said I had a bad cold, and that a lot of people have been getting sick with all this damp, miserable weather. He game me a prescription for cough medicine and some stuff for the other cold symptoms. He said I should drink lots of fluids and get lots of rest. He said if I took my medicine and followed his instructions, I'd feel better in a few days."

"That's good." I said. I was glad he had a professional tell him that.

"That's good? Is that all you have to say? Ya know, I was lookin' at the active ingredients in this stuff and comparin' it with the over the counter stuff I've been takin'. You know what? It's all pretty much the same. The only difference is that I spent a whole lot more money for this stuff." Well, I'm glad I was able to be his punching bag.

"Starsk, you must feel better, at least, that the doctor told you that you would be okay."

"Hutch, it's a good thing I love you, 'cause…" He started coughing.

"Alright, enough talking. Go lay down on the sofa and I'll make you a cup of tea with honey and lemon. Your throat must be raw as hell."

He headed for the sofa and I went to the kitchen. I watched the rain falling on the glass of Starsky's window. As I heard Starsky's soft snoring from the living room, I thought about how lucky I was.

_I hear the drizzle of the rain  
Like a memory it falls  
Soft and warm continuing  
Tapping on my roof and walls_

_And from the shelter of my mind  
Through the window of my eyes  
I gaze beyond the rain drenched streets  
To a land where my heart lies_

_My mind's distracted and diffused  
My thoughts are many miles away  
They lie with you when you're asleep  
And kiss you when you start your day_

_And a song I was writing is left undone  
I don't know why I spend my time  
Writing songs I can't believe  
With words that tear and strain to rhyme_

_And so you see I have come to doubt  
All that I once held as true  
I stand alone without beliefs  
The only truth I know is you_

_And as I watch the drops of rain  
Weave their weary paths and die  
I know that I am like the rain  
There but for the grace of you go I_

The End


End file.
